


Where's My Soul?

by HolleringHawk65



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dermatillomania, Gen, Mild Self Harm TW, Post S2 E7: Space Mall, Shiro has dermatillomania, the Black Lion wants her Paladin to be Okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 03:46:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11005311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolleringHawk65/pseuds/HolleringHawk65
Summary: Basically this is me Projecting on Shiro but I also feel like this a valid thing so I wanted to explore kind of why he would have dermatillomania?





	Where's My Soul?

**Author's Note:**

> Wow this is my 100th fic??? Also title is from a Third Eye Blind song because that's what I was listening to when I posted this on my tumblr (which is also @holleringhawk65, in case you want to look me up!)

Shiro does not like to look into mirrors.

He doesn't like the person who stares back at him now; the Champion is all that he sees. Someone who had to hurt others to survive.

He wants to see the Black Paladin. Strong, confident. Someone people can trust without hesitation. He shakes his head. People _do_ trust him already; Allura, Coran, the other paladins, the Blade of Momora, and all of the people counting on Voltron to free them from the Galra Empire.

He realizes, as he regretfully looks at himself in the mirror, looks at the ugly scar across his face, that he doesn't trust _himself_.

How can he? He barely remembers anything from his time in captivity. He doesn't even remember how he got his arm. Did he want the procedure? Did he do it to save someone else? Was it to save himself?

He looks at himself, taking stock of his features. Would his parents still embrace him, if they ever saw him again? He felt like he was only part of who he was before. He wanted to rip away everything that the Galra had done to him, all that they had changed about him.

He wanted all of the changes that had been forced upon him to just disappear. Hell, Voltron would probably be better off with someone else piloting the Black Lion.

At the thought, a strange wave of emotion hit him. It was distress, at first, and a sense of worriment. It took him a second to figure out that it was Black reaching out to him, trying to comfort him. She didn't want another Paladin, she just wanted him, after all they had gone through on the astral plane with Zarkon.

“Sometimes we don't get what we want.” He said it softly as he leaned against the counter, bringing his human hand up. It graced across the unevenness of his skin that was the scar and all of the little pustules and acne.

He huffed because he couldn't do what he wanted with one hand. Maybe it would be fitting that both of his hands, the hands that reperesented two different sides of him, were both starting to dig into his skin, digging up every little bit of dirt and whatever else clogged up his pores.

He doesn’t know how long he was standing there for, but by the time he's done, he feels like his eyes are ready to fall shut. He washes his hands and puts on a thin layer of skin cream, just enough that the others probably won't notice what he's done.

If he was being honest, which he always tried to do, he was a little ashamed. Ulaz hadn't given up his life so he could pick at his skin. People hadn't risked everything to help them just so he could have a breakdown.

But, at the same time, he was a little happy. These marks that he would wear for days were things he had done to himself, of his own accord, and his own consent. He remembers when he used to do it as a reaction to stress at school and the Garrison. One of the big differences between now and then were that he used to pick at his shoulders and arms. He didn't even want to consider doing it that way if it meant looking at his right arm in depth. He tried to avoid that, whenever possible.

His fingers ran over his face again as he laid down in bed. Another wave of emotion, comparable to being content, but one knowing it wasn't going to last, came over him. He sighed as he tried to let Black know that he'd be fine. Honestly.

As if trying to comfort him, she sent him images of things that she must think are beautiful; glittering space rocks, the vastness of space laid out in front of them, stars twinkling light years away from them, different planets, Earth.

He smiled at the last one and felt himself drifting off, which seemed to please her immensely. _Good night, Black_ was the last thing he remembered thinking as his face throbbed and he drifted off to sleep, finally start to reenergize his exhausted body.


End file.
